Nothing Gets Done
by nanniships
Summary: A slightly steamy Chelsie in honor of our Mona for her birthday! When Mr. Carson makes a decision...he makes a decision. Probably OOC, but lots of fun regardless.


Nothing Gets Done

"Perhaps we _should_ consider retirement."

While not unused to her husband muttering seemingly random comments as whatever he had been pondering finally made its way out of his mouth, Elsie Carson could, nevertheless, be taken by surprise at the content. They hadn't discussed retirement in several months, and the previous discussion had been less than conclusive.

One might even say it had been somewhat acrimonious. It had taken several days for the atmosphere to clear after the last one. And Elsie hated an atmosphere almost as much as she longed for the day when retirement would become more than a conversational stick with which to poke Charles when she was feeling particularly frustrated at the demands that remaining at the helm of the Downton Abbey staff had placed on her marriage.

She turned from her desk in surprise to see him standing at the door of her sitting room, staring at her with an expression she couldn't identify. Did he look, just the faintest bit, nervous? Embarrassed, even? He shifted his feet and cleared his throat.

"I'll not argue with you if you wish to discuss it," she finally said with a smile, "but I'll not discuss it with you stood in my open door for everybody passing by to put in their twopence worth." She sighed as his eyebrows flew up. "For goodness sakes, come in and shut the door, Charles."

Clearing his throat again and tugging at his waistcoat, he did as she'd bid him. As he sat down in the chair across from her, his eyes fell on the neat column of numbers she had been working on, which took up only a quarter of the page.

"I've fallen behind a bit on the accounts," she admitted, as she followed his gaze. "But I'm sure I'll catch back up before the end of the day."

"As have I," he replied. "But I'm not so sure I'll ever catch up."

"Why ever not?" she asked in surprise.

"I'm finding myself…distracted of late."

Elsie found herself less surprised by the admission than by the tone in which it was delivered. Charles didn't seem at all upset that he was too distracted to complete his book keeping.

"What's got you in a bother?" she asked gently, placing her hand over his as it rested on his knee.

"It's not simply the accounts," he replied, as if she'd not asked her question. "I've been late ringing the dressing gong twice this last week."

"I'd wondered about that…"

"Three days ago, I served the '04 Merlot when the menu clearly called for the '12 Cabernet Sauvignon."

"Really? That's not like you at all…"

"Just this morning, I called Mr. Molesley _Mr. Barrow_ to great consternation of them both."

"I can imagine…."

"And not forty minutes ago, I left two cups behind in the sitting room after Lady Grantham entertained six local peers for tea. I had to send Andrew back into the room to surreptitiously retrieve them. It was _not_ well done."

"Good heavens!" she replied with the beginnings of alarm. She reached up to feel his forehead for any trace of fever. He sat placidly under her ministrations, a hint of a smile curling his lip.

"And as of this moment," he continued, "I find that I do not give a single bloody toss about the fact that I'm two days behind on the wine ledger and that nothing gets done."

"You're starting to frighten me," she said anxiously. "What's happened?"

"You have," he said simply.

"I beg your pardon."

"I am unable to concentrate for five minutes at a time because of you."

Elsie gaped at her husband, trying to make sense of what he was saying. Her confusion deepened as he smiled and clasped her hand which still rested on his. He clearly wasn't upset.

"Perhaps you might explain yourself, Mr. Carson…"

"Perhaps I might," he agreed. But rather than explaining, he abruptly stood, pulling her to her feet and drawing her to him.

"What…?" she began as he pressed his lips to her forehead.

"I was late ringing the dressing gong because I suddenly remembered the sound your dressing gown made when it fell from your shoulders to the floor…." His lips moved down to her left ear and he smiled into her cheek as she shivered.

"Charles…"

"I was in the wine cellar, squinting through the gloom and wishing I'd brought a candle as the windows need washing down there—"

"Well, I'll see that the hall boys take care of that…" she gasped and clutched his shoulders as he kissed his way down her neck.

"—when suddenly I was struck by a vision of how you had looked in the moonlight the night before when you rose over me and pressed your body against mine. I grabbed the incorrect bottle without even noticing it."

Elsie tried to pull away long enough to stop her head from spinning from his words and his actions. But she found herself leaning into him instead as he grasped her waist and ran his hands slowly up her sides.

"And when I was trying to tell Mr. Molesley to make sure the serving platter was polished properly, all I could suddenly hear was the way you had said my name this morning when I ran my hand up your thigh. I forgot who I was even talking to."

"Charles… anyone could walk in," she protested weakly as he traced her collarbone with his tongue.

"And as I was clearing the tea cups away, stacking and arranging them on the tray, it brought to mind how perfectly your breasts fit in my hands this morning when you bent over me to clear away our tea things and you were in such a hurry your dressing gown gaped open—"

"That was intentional," she muttered as he finally captured her lips with his. As her mouth opened to his tongue, she grabbed the back of his head to hold him tightly to her, mussing his ruthlessly tamed hair. Heedless of the activity and bustling in the corridor, they kissed passionately until forced apart by the need for air.

"So clearly," he went on, panting a bit, "with the situation such as it is, everything reminds me of you. Nothing gets done, and if nothing is going to get done, I would much rather spend my days with you getting nothing done. So we might as well consider retirement."

"Just like that?" she asked incredulously, running her fingers absently through his hair and disarranging it further.

"I thought I'd talk to His Lordship before the dressing gong," he replied, before kissing the corner of her mouth.

"What? Today?!"

"In about five minutes, actually. I've made an appointment."

With that, he pulled her to him for another long kiss, and then suddenly released her. Elsie staggered backwards, unable to stop staring at this man who looked like her husband, and most certainly kissed like her husband, but couldn't possibly _be_ her husband. Charles took her hand and kissed it before turning and striding determinedly to the door.

"I'll be back after I've rung the gong," he promised.

Elsie rushed to the door to stare at him walking quickly to the stairs, leaving a trail of shocked faces in his wake. The staff who had witnessed his departure looked from his tousled hair, crooked tie, and relentless grin to her, as she stood in the door in shock - dress rumpled, lips swollen, and a lovely red mark coming out on her collarbone.

"What in the world…?!" Mrs. Patmore exclaimed as she watched from the kitchen door.

"I think we're retiring," Elsie murmured.

"Not a moment too soon," Mrs. Patmore opined, shaking her head.

 **A/N: Not exactly my Chelsie comfort zone, but I gave it the old college try for our Mona's birthday! Three cheers and let me know what you think ;)**


End file.
